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smell of leather. The heavy scrapbook had been much more expensive than its cardboard counterparts, but well worth the extra money. He ran his large hands back and forth over the binding, liking the way it felt to his touch.
    He was in no hurry. This was all part of the ritual—part of the enjoyment. He caressed the leather as he would a woman, feeling stirrings begin in his loins. At last he turned on the light and opened the pages, running his hands over the heavy plastic as he savored each memento he had placed there. The newsprint stared back at him.
    KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
    NOVEMBER , 1984
    Police today discovered the body of eighteen-year-old Diana Johnson. She had been missing for two weeks, and was the focus of an intense search in the Kansas City area. Miss Johnson had been raped and strangled. Her nude body had been covered with branches and brush, and was discovered by nine-year-old Jeremy Calhoun, who was hunting with his father at the time.
    Diana Johnson was a freshman at Park College. Police have no leads in the case.
    The lovely face of Diana Johnson smiled out at him from his book. Her short, light-brown hair was worn casually, swept up and away from her face. Just the way she had worn it that night. The newspaper photograph didn’t do justice to her eyes, though. He remembered her crystal blue eyes, fringed by long, dark lashes. He ran his hand over the smooth plastic covering her face, remembering how it had been that night. She had been so pretty, so desirable—so frightened. He shivered as he turned the page.
    OMAHA, NEBRASKA
    FEBRUARY 1984
    After an exhaustive search in the Omaha area, police today discovered the body of nineteen-year-old Kimberly Asherton, of Lincoln. She had been missing for eight days from her dormitory at the University of Nebraska. Her nude, mutilated body was found by a farmer, Silas Montgomery, on his wooded property just north of the city. Miss Asherton had been brutally raped, then stabbed repeatedly. At this time police have no leads.
    Kimberly’s face smiled out at him from the old newspaper clipping. He remembered her well. She wouldn’t stop screaming. He had begged her to talk with him—to say the words. But she wouldn’t. She just screamed on and on. He had been happy to kill her.
    Leaning over, he flicked his tongue back and forth over the picture. “See how nice it is when you don’t scream, Kimberly? If you would have only talked to me, I might have killed you quicker. Poor Kimberly. You died so slow.”
    Casually he flipped through a few more pages.
    DES MOINES, IOWA
    DECEMBER 1985
    GRAND ISLAND, NEBRASKA
    JANUARY 1985
    SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI
    NOVEMBER 1986
    LAWRENCE, KANSAS
    JANUARY 1986
    There was no picture accompanying the article this time. Worse, he didn’t even have a name for the girl. His one mistake. His one big mistake. He hadn’t believed his eyes when he picked up the newspaper that next day. She had lived. It was unthinkable, but she had lived. Slowly, he traced his finger down the short article, reading it again—remembering.
    Police today are searching for clues in the rape and near-fatal stabbing of a seventeen-year-old freshman student from the University of Kansas. The victim was discovered late last night by two high school students. Doctors credit their quick action for saving the young woman’s life. She had been stabbed four times, but the teenagers who discovered her crawling along the road bound her wounds tightly and rushed her to Memorial Hospital, where she is listed in critical condition.
    Because of the age of the victim, her name is being withheld from publication.
    Her name! The little bitch wouldn’t tell him her name! But she had been so obliging in all other aspects, that he had let it go. After all, he knew he would be able to get it from the newspaper article telling about her death. When it told instead of her living, he had been horrified.
    He should never have broken his own